


Bring Back Asbestos

by bible



Category: Original Work
Genre: 1950s, Anal Sex, Coming Untouched, Exhibitionism, M/M, Multi, Omorashi, Oral Sex, Public Masturbation, Spit Kink, Unsafe Sex, Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-11
Updated: 2018-11-03
Packaged: 2019-06-08 15:23:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15246246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bible/pseuds/bible
Summary: Just a bunch of one-shots about my idiot slut OC getting fucked by randos.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this is just a place to keep stuff about my gross OC. he's an unlicensed nuclear physicist and radio personality in the atomic age. he's 23, looks like buddy holly, loves to suck dick, and wants to eat lead paint. he's also got a long tongue.

                “You know, it really _does_ replenish your skin,” Adam moans, his back arching as his thin hips are hoisted against the anonymous man’s crotch, grinding against his spread cheeks. The denim scratches over his hole but it sends a thrilling spike up his spine. The cold bite of the man’s zipper makes goosebumps spread over his flesh. Jeans are _such_ a good invention. He turns the ATOMIC SOAP packaging in his hands and grins. Splayed on his shitty apartment bathroom tiles, he seems more preoccupied by reading the cardboard packaging than by the fact that he’s about to split open on one of the biggest dick’s he’s ever encountered.

                “In the case of nuclear fallout, using this kind of soap,” Adam, his radio announcer’s voice as sophisticated as ever, recites his praise. “Packed with thorium chloride and radium bromide, completely prevents against the adverse-effects of— _ooooh_.”

                A finger slides up his hole. He presses his cheek against one of the checker-board tiles, cool beneath his hot flesh, and he removes his glasses from his face. “I mean, it also produces a radiant glow. Look at my skin. I’m free of acne scars and dark marks. Do you see even a _sign_ of—”

                “Shut the fuck up,” the man instructs. His voice crawls like gravel as his purple cockhead pokes at the tight pink ring of boy-cunt that Adam has ready for him. Rearing up on his knees and bending over Adam’s body, the tanned man looks through the sink’s shelves. They should just fuck in the bedroom, but Adam’s insisted a roommate might return any minute. But Adam isn’t making any effort to be quiet, his mouth open and swollen and macerated with spit, moaning like some worthless prostitute into the tiles, where a pool of drool is collecting.

                Retrieving a tub of what he assumes is Vaseline, he makes the mistake of passing the container in front of Adam’s eyes, spurning another tangent about this X-Ray Gel and how, in the event of an A-bomb attack, slicking your skin with this miracle slop will prevent any and all contamination.

                “Then I guess your asshole’s gonna be fine in case the Japs decide to bomb us here and now,” the man grunts, smearing it all over Adam’s tight little pussy. The gel is a florid green and as transparent as aloe vera. It doesn’t really make it all that appealing sexually, but he looks back at Adam’s face, his slick chin, that extraordinarily long tongue of his, those pretty eyes, those prettier eyelashes. Decides his asshole does look good, after all, and slicks his own dick up in this cancer goo.

                When the head begins to breach his hole, Adam wheezes out a laugh, showing off his straight, white teeth, so big and shiny. He says, dreamy, his leg splayed, “Aw, fella, you do me real good.”

                “Wanna fuck up your guts. God, can you see me in your fuckin’ stomach?”

                Adam’s head hangs down to look at himself, on all fours, his own dick hard and dripping, his flat stomach above it indented by this guy’s cock. He groans at the sight. He likes himself being fucked more than he likes anyone doing the fucking. He knows how cute he is, how tight and supple his body is. He knows he’s a pinup, bait for these ex-World War Two fuckers trying to get their rocks off. He knows how much he looks like those pretty underaged civilians in the Eastern front. He knows how pathetic and easy he looks, impaled on a dick, his skinny leg hoisted up, holding himself on his hands, his face moistened with sweat and spit.

                All the spit is his, though. He hasn’t been kissed tonight. He has a penchant for drooling. Although he’s not inhuman by any means, he has an extraordinarily long tongue. He can lick the underside of his own chin.

                “I bet you’d drink my toilet water.”

                The man suddenly slaps a hand over his drooling mouth and slides the length of his throbbing, blood-hot dick to the root, making him shake and rolls his eyes back. God damn.

                “Shut. The. Fuck. Up.”

                “Oh, baby.” He clenches around him, works him with his asshole, laughing deliriously against a palm that tastes like sweat and iron and salt. The cock in him twitches—he can feel it twitch—and feels used. Craning his neck back, he stares at him, his vision half-blurred without his glasses. Lashes wet and sticking together in clumps, he says, “You know those Japanese windsocks?”

                “I will crush your windpipe if you don’t stop talking,” the guy grits out, fucking him brutally in short jerks, that tight hole snapped around his cock as tight as a clinging rubber-band. He pushes a thumb to it, and Adam squeaks.

                “It’s like one of those. My asshole, that is. And your dick is the wind.”

                The guy pulls out. Adam whines, indignant, like he’s just had something near and dear to him ripped out of his hands. Like the Atomic Soap or whatever the fuck. “No! Keep fucking me! I’m sorry, I’ll shut up.”

                The guy wraps his hand around his throat and squeezes. Adam’s knees slip for purchase on the tacky tiles, and he whines, “I mean it,” his voice strangled. He puts his own hand over the one on his neck and opens his mouth wide, letting his long tongue slip out and fall over his chin. As if that’s at all sexy. The guy seems to think so, or he doesn’t want to waste his time, because he puts his dick back at his hole and pushes in, thinking nothing of Adam’s comfort.

                It feels so fucking good. Adam wants to tell him, to praise him. But he keeps his big mouth shut, hangs his head down between his shoulders to watch himself be fucked, filled by that monstrous dick. His face is contorted into a goofy smile and his knees lift from the floor as he’s fucked. He’s so amused by the very sight of his own body being used.

                Also—he really likes the wetness of all of this. His hole, glowing with that X-Ray lube or whatever the fuck. It makes him really horny. Tingles, sloshes inside him. Maybe a little too much. He’ll have to shower after this. The guy’s thrusts get erratic, the _slap-slap-slap_ sound increases and he feels the guy rear up once on his thighs, pump his seed into his asshole, and fall over him, panting. Somewhere in there, he’s felt himself cum. Probably. There’s a little pool of white beneath him.

                The guy pulls out and puts a hand on his ass-cheek. “Fuck,” he heaves, thumbing his hole, watching his own seed leak out of him, trickle down those tight, angelic balls of his. “Good pussy right here.”

                Adam decides that he can talk now. “Do you think the worst thing ever would be to die in one of those fiery mushroom clouds of atomic power? I think of it all the time. I think a worse way to die would be in an airplane, babies crying around you. You’re so cramped in an airplane. I’d like some more freedom.”

                The guy’s getting dressed, ignoring him, and Adam goes on and on, laying in a puddle of their combined cum, babbling on, even when the guy pulls on his leather jacket and leaves the room. He sighs, laying in his feverish-hot body heat and then he sits up, aching.

                Crawls over to the tub and starts running the water. He adds NUCLEAR SOAP FLAKES to the steaming water and pulls himself in.


	2. Chapter 2

                Because it’s 1955 and because he’s a bachelor and unmarried and isn’t going steady with a girl and never has, everyone assumes Adam is a virgin. He likes that. He walks around the college campus with his shy little smile and his thin body hidden under the nicely-pressed clothes of his Ivy League rich family. He doesn’t make eyes at girls but when they talk to him he ducks his face and grins, flirtatious and shy as a blossom.

                On campus, he’s been caught only once in an act of lewdness. It was the evening, and very few classes were populated by students, who preferred the daytime. Adam was always a night person.

He was walking outside in the September heat, the sky a dawning shade of vermillion, cicadas creaking loudly. He sat outside of the physics building where he’d had his last three-hour class, and he threw his head back. His hair tossed over his forehead, wet with sweat that prickled at his scalp, and he inhaled the thick, cloying air and felt a shred of desire creep down his spine. Beginning to bounce a leg, he felt both restless and exhausted from schooling to move from his spot. The sweet summer heat slicked him to the bench. As the sun crept down, the temperature cooled, making his body meld from discomfort to pleasure. His eyes were closed and the thought of doing something disgusting in public was enough to draw a little whimper from his throat, whistled between his teeth.

Adam was never one to care for societal norms, and because of it, he was often bullied and ridiculed growing up. But he was never influenced by this maltreatment, too dead-set on experiencing pleasure and humor, even if it means danger. He thought about his lesson on the atomic bomb and shivered in pleasure at the thought of the world decaying before his very eyes, the ground splitting and the world being set in red. Neon sign red. Sex bar red. Dusk in September red. Thought of his not-so-attractive teacher and his droopy eyes and his meaty hands and Adam’s own hand crawled between his legs at the thought. Adam’s always been a glutton for punishment, and he liked the idea of his own supple, perfect form being taken by some sort of disgusting man who could never _dream_ of having a boy as beautiful as him. Adam groped himself as he began to swell a little.

Adam’s charitable like that.

Sliding a hand into his trousers, he began to rub at the curve of his cock that was swelling up in his white underwear. He was shaded from view only by a single tree, but the science building was on the emptiest side of campus, away from the quad, the arenas, the performing art classes. The school was designed with the intention of keeping the area around the science facilities student-free because the forested area behind the building was often used as a live laboratory for biological research. They needed nature as untouched as possible. So Adam was confident that, as he molested himself in his pleated, expensive pants and thought about his rat-faced professor’s hands on his slim little body, no one was going to spot him. He opened his eyes and realized it was dark now, the stars peering out overhead, the streetlamps illuminating the campus.

His underwear was soaked now and he relished the feeling of the sticky, warm cloth nestled around his throbbing flesh. Rocked into it a bit, grinned to himself at how disgustingly slutty he felt. There’s nothing he likes more than what repulses him, after all. Creeping the waistband of his underwear down, he let the head of his cock peek out, resting against his tucked-in shirt. Touching it delicately with his pointer finger, eliciting pre-cum that seeped like honey from the slit of it, he smiled at himself. His body jolted with each delicate press of his own finger to his cock. This self-worship was almost blasphemous in nature, and if Adam believed in God he might do it in a church just to get his blood pumping even more in its illicitness.

A girl walked by a few feet from him, but she didn’t look in his direction. He stared at the back of her skirt, and even though he wasn’t interested in women, the thought of nudging his hard cock against her backside in the middle of this public campus made his dick throb all the harder. His pants felt suffocating now, where they once were tender. He took a swallow of humid air, felt a bit braver, and pulled his cock out of his pants fully.

Curved and pink, the vein of it sticking out starkly, he was surprised at how _wet_ he was. In the golden lamplight on the pathway, his cock was shining with slick. He ran a thumb over it, still idly touching himself, as casual as could be.

In fact, he sat so casually, his legs splayed and his free arm along the back of the bench, that when a pair of fellow students exited the building, he quickly threw his messenger bag over his lap and smiled at them. Not a sweat droplet on his face looked out of place. Even his glasses, somewhat misted from the puffs of breath he exhaled from his nose, could easily be mistaken as having gotten that way from the humidity.

A boy and a girl, their names eluding him, he nodded at them.

“Hey, Adam,” the boy said. Adam looked him over, noted his slim, straight hips betraying not an essence of womanness and felt desire pump through his dick, make it throb hungrily. He wondered how hard brown leather was to clean. “Do you want to come study with us?”

“We just got out of class!” he laughed, always the charmer, always a conversationalist. Even mid-fuck, as we’ve seen before, “And you’re up for studying more?”

“Well, we do have a big test.”

“No, no,” he laughed. Here he was, playfully conversing as if his cock wasn’t pumping out wads of burning hot precum as they spoke. He felt horribly sexy. “I feel a little feverish. The heat and all. I’m probably going to go to my dorm and pass out. Study in the early hours.”

“I see. Well, maybe some other time.”

“Yes, I’d like that very much.” Adam said, looking over his handsome, pallid face, his tortoiseshell glasses, his prettily quiffed hair. He dragged his line of vision to the girl, also very pretty and smiled at her as well. He guessed they might be going together, or something. “I’ll see you around.”

“Yes, see you!” they called cheerfully and went off. Adam’s heart was pounding, and when he pulled his messenger bag from his cock, sticky lines of fluid stretched between his dick and the leather. He thought if he got any harder it’d hurt. So instead of bringing himself to completion, he just sat there, his hard dick out in the heat, until it was pounding, throbbing with his thoughts.

His thoughts: of being seized, of being touched, of being bent over and used, of his little virginal façade shattered, of being choked, of having fingers stuck in his throat, of drooling long lines of spit around married men’s fingers, of crying around a cock, of being railed, of being filled til it hurts with one, two, three cocks. Three, four fingers. A fist. Disgusting, awful thoughts, and he didn’t touch himself.

Then, when it became too much, he grabbed his dick and began jerking off.

He wanted his professor, pale and rat-eyed and sleepy and stout to throw him around, to man-handle him, to call him names. Adam pulled a leg up to rest his foot on the bench, the other heel digging into the grass at his feet as he worked his cock with a fast, suctioning fist. His flesh was searing and sticky, and he really felt like he was fucking something.

As he was about to reach his peak, his professor exited, briefcase in hand, his eyes landing on Adam, who grinned at him as he came all over his chest in hot, liquidated spurts, thick and coagulated. The professor stared, shocked, his eyes eggshell white wide and his mouth open. Adam tilted his head back and let his mouth open, his long tongue falling out in a show of either mocking or invitation. A string of spit hung off of his tongue.

That year, introduction to physics professor Peter Washburn was the only one who knew that Adam was not a virginal flower, demure and boyish. He didn’t say anything about it to anyone, though. Adam never really knew what he thought.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for piss my dudes :-)

                “It’s alright, pal,” cooed the guy behind him. Adam yawned and stretched on his stomach, feeling very cat-like. He pressed his chin in his hand. As if he had any qualms about this whole exchange and the fact of homosexuality in general. The guy was probably reassuring himself more than anything. The fan whirred overhead but did little to keep the sweat from beading on his forehead. He felt like he was in a nuclear reactor. He turned his face towards the ceiling and blinked slowly. His glasses had been abandoned, after they kept fogging up in the humidity of the summer and of sex.

                “Life’s real swell, isn’t it?” Adam mused, spreading his legs. The guy groaned and put his palms on either skinny thigh, pale and white. He looked at Adam’s short, tight athletic shorts cupping him in all the right places. It clung to his skin with its elastic grip and accentuated his ass, his balls. The guy was about his age, with a real nervousness to him that Adam never identified with. He was upset that Adam left the window blinds half-drawn to let in the sun. Adam said he liked to fuck in the warmth and insisted on it. The guy—what’s this name, thinks Adam, maybe Quinton—is a real closeted type. Despite the fact that Adam’s apartment faced nothing but a collection of trees, and the fact they were on the top floor, far from the searching eyes of anything but birds, the guy whined about the window. But he gave in when Adam rolled over and showed off that ass of his.

                Quinton or whatever had buried his face against it and groaned and Adam preened in the attention. Those scruffy unshaven cheeks rubbing between his thighs was nice.  Felt like he was getting taken care of by some clean-cut dad or something. Anything but a dorky college kid with a smattering of forehead acne.

                Hypocritical of Adam, really.

                Quinton wrapped his arms around Adam’s hips and pulled them up, so Adam’s chest was pressed to the sheets. His light t-shirt was worn for the July days, but his chest felt feverish beneath, and he knew it was slick with sweat. Quinton buried his face between Adam’s cheeks and sighed reverentially, as if this was the first ass he’d ever been able to touch. Adam wasn’t about to judge him if it was, because being so blatantly worshiped like this was almost as good as being slapped in the face by some handsome, cologne-laden businessman and being called a ‘fucked-up whore.’ Adam’s cock gave a twitch at the memory, or maybe it twitched as Quinton began licking at his balls, smoothing his shorts against them with their silky grasp.

                Still, Adam got the feeling that his shorts were doing the bulk of the sexual pleasure. He sat up on his elbow and mumbled, “Hey, pal. Why don’t we start playing a little more, alright?”

                “Gimme a second,” huffed Quinton, his nose pressing against Adam’s taint. Adam huffed and dropped his chin between his arms on the bed, glowering at a spot of sunlight on the wall that sat there so still it made the surrounding shadows of the trees look like stains. His dick wasn’t hardening and he felt bored and sweaty as Quinton nosed around his cock slow and curious. Adam knew he was a virgin then, and knew that any sort of sex wasn’t going to be any good.

                He also knew that any choices he had in the matter were going to influence this guy’s future fetishes and preferences for a long time. Adam had a lot of power right now, but he just sat there lazily and dragged his line of vision to his Kit-Kat clock, watching the mechanical tail sway from side to side as the seconds went by. _This was like charity, or public service_ , he thought, thinking of better things he could be doing. Like writing his radio show script, or reading up on Hiroshima again.

                Eventually he rolled onto his back, after working his hips out of his captor’s grasp, and looked at him. “You wanna drink, or something?”

                Quinton was flushed, his big brown eyes blown like he’d just had a bump of cocaine. His pants were tented considerably. Adam couldn’t help but compare him to a kid who’d just figured out how to rub off on his pillow. Quinton was blonde. He might have been one of those really stifled Christian types, never allowed to touch his cock and taught in Boy Scouts to never, ever masturbate. Adam wasn’t one for babying or teaching. He didn’t quite like the inexperienced.

                “What? No, I want to…”

                But Adam threw his legs over the side of the bed and returned with two Coca-Colas in either hand. He smiled at him and offered the confused boy one. “Here you go.”

                “I wanted to…”

                Adam sat across from him on the bed, his legs crossed, like girls at a slumber-party about to share a secret, and popped the caps off. He smiled at him wryly and puts his legs on either side of his hips. Then, inexplicably, he began to talk about it. Again.

                “If you really think about it, the coalition of nations in response to a singular one was so weak and pathetic, that we very well—the Allied powers, that is—might as well have been labeled anemic. If it hadn’t been for science, for the nuclear means it took to end that war, then the Nazis would be here now, putting pink triangles on us and leaving us to fuck—horrifically enough—women. And what sort of pathetic excuse of Americanism is that?” he took a long swig of his soda, and shrugged his thin shoulders, “I’m a proud American, you know. I really like Coca-Cola and cigarettes and I love television and nuclear warfare best. It’s my thing, you know? And I like Boy Scouts enough, but the whole introduction of Corn Flakes and graham crackers was a real mistake, because what I think is that we cuckolded our good boys so much that we were weak, pathetic children in war. We couldn’t win because we hadn’t been sexually liberated. Well—we won, but that’s because of boys like me who traded semen with other men and, after having a clear head, figured out science. All the soldiers had been enveloped in the soft, boring mush of women. The Nazis, though—just imagine what went on at those Hitler Youth camps!”

                Quinton was appalled, and was eager to leave. His freckles disappeared in the flush that burned at his cheeks as he shook at Adam’s words, but how was he going to untangle himself from the warm, hypersexual tangle of this guy’s legs? He drank his soda and said, “Why don’t we do something else, huh?”

                “What, you don’t like hearing me talk?”

                “No.”

                Adam shrugged, and put his hands on his shoulders. “Fair enough.”

                They retreated to the living room and had a few more sodas—and then a few beers—and Adam read out loud to him a book on surviving the nuclear holocaust, sitting on his lap. They began to think of theoreticals for themselves. Where they would be after the bombs fell, what they’d do, what kind of people they’d be. What humans would look like, if they’d mutate in the poisoned air. It all began to become fun, really, some sort of play-pretend of their youth. Adam was feeling light and buzzy and he leaned back against a very drunk Quinton when he began to paw at his balls again.

                “Wanna see it?” Adam asked, and pulled down the front of his shorts. His cock came out, pink and hard, the head of it flushed and slightly-sticky. Quinton put a shy, experimental finger to the tip of it.

                “What should I do?”

                Adam rolled his eyes. God, what’s worse than hand-holding through sex when you’re experienced? Especially when you’re an experienced _bottom_?

                Then, he felt a sharp spike of pleasure throb in his stomach, which quickly turned into desperation. He felt all the cola begin to settle and begin to needle at his bladder. He huffed and squirmed a little, his cock still hard, the shorts resting beneath his balls. Quinton played with his cock with an inexperienced, curious hand, tracing it with these fleeting brushes of his fingers that did less to please and more to tickle Adam than anything. Adam gave a whine.

                “Hey, would’ja cut it out?” he whined, and began to arch up, his feet pressing against his tiled floor as he tried to make his way to the pink-themed bathroom where he’d had his ass rawed a lot better not too long ago. “I gotta take a whiz.”

                “No, just—let me touch you.”

                “Come on, brat, I gotta piss.”

                “You’re playin’ with me to get me to go.”

                “I mean it, pal!” but Adam’s thin body was jerked back onto Quinton’s lap, and he gave a sharp inhale through his grit teeth at the sudden pressure in his abdomen being ignited as Quinton’s arm wrapped around it to keep him in place. “Fuckin’—let me go!”

                But Quinton was adamant and he squeezed at his cock, grinning against the back of Adam’s pomaded hair. “You’re such a slut, I hear. You let anyone do you. But you’re scared of me?”

                Adam was about to tell him he wasn’t scared, he was extraordinarily disappointed with his naïve virginity and his overbearing sense of teenage-nervousness that boiled out of him like fucking pus, but when he opened his mouth he made only a squeak before his cock gave a telling flex and then let out a spurt of piss that flooded both Adam’s shaking thighs and Quinton’s still ones. His body relaxed, the tension in his arms and legs that came from holding his urine free to slump back against his chest. He huffed, indignant and feverishly aroused as he watched his own cock spurt out a stream of pee so warm and endless that it felt almost like an orgasm.

                “You’re like a child,” laughed Quinton, and Adam groaned as his stream trickled off. His shorts were soaked, and so was the couch and so must be Quinton. The room smelled of it, a stain so aromatic is was almost humid. He huffed and squirmed again, felt the wetness slosh and trickle beneath them. His cheeks were red as he felt a few trickles of piss reach his asshole, which gave a needy clench at the prospect of being filled. “Couldn’t even help yourself.”

                “I could have! If you’d let me go!”

                “Weak little baby,” Quinton laughed, and Adam seethed at this designation, this absolutely vile determination he had made—a virgin had made of him! Adam squirmed again and groaned through his grit teeth at the pee wetting the inside of his thighs. Then he felt the telling hardness beneath him and eked out a gasp.

                “You’re sick,” he snarled, and Quinton humped his erection against him.

                “You’re the one sitting in his own piss. Y’know, everyone says you’re a real slut. I heard about you. You’ll do a stranger like me for free. Can’t wait to tell everyone you’ll lose your bladder for free, too.”

                Adam didn’t mind the humiliation. But he did mind something else: “Let me up, would you? It’s getting cold and wet and it’s real unpleasant.”

                “Don’t worry. I’ll warm you up.”

                Adam opened his mouth to protest but the burning stream of piss flooded from the trousers beneath him and against his hole, which twitched again at the phantom prospect of warmth, at the knowledge that right beneath him was a cock. Adam struggled to get up, thoroughly repulsed, and managed to. But Quinton pushed him to the floor and stood before him, unzipping his pants and releasing his cock for the first time to Adam. Adam didn’t try and get away now. Put a cock in his face and the guy’s immobilized. He stared with hungry eyes, his lips parted, and then winced as the stream picked back up. Quinton let out a pleasured sigh as he wet Adam’s t-shirt, adding a new liquid to the sweat beneath, making it cling to his skinny chest. The trail went down to his crotch, warming it and making Adam’s cock come back to life. It was either that which made his cock harden, or the sight of a big dick across from him.

                “That’s a nice dick you got,” Adam noted, “Shame you haven’t been giving it to anyone?”

                “And what makes you think that?” Quinton asked, shaking himself off onto Adam like nothing more than a used toilet. Adam pushed himself onto his elbows and then sat on his knees, crawling forward to rub his cheek against it. He smiled up at him, playful.

                “No one but a virgin would have let me talk at them that long before taking me.”

                He popped his lips open around the head of his cock, tasting piss and pre-cum, swallowing around it hungry and desperate and feeling very cute and pathetic, bathed in piss, kneeling in a puddle of it as it cooled around his pale legs. He puts his hands on the part of Quinton’s cock his mouth couldn’t reach and let his tongue play over it, swallowing around it desperately and noisily. He practically purred. It was warm and heavy and tasted of salt and piss and Adam felt like a whore down there, like some slutty girl paid to slobber on dick. The fact he did this for free, as Quinton had correctly claimed, only made it better. His own hand worked his cock quickly, slicking through the piss, until he felt himself clench and let out an orgasm on the floor. His mouth was still around that dick.

                Quinton grabbed the back of Adam’s head and gave a few short, hard thrusts against his mouth, making Adam gag and let out a noise of pleasure-pain, and then the cum shot in his throat hot and wet. Adam swallowed desperately, pulling off and licking around the dick until Quinton wrenched his hips out of his grasp.

                “Jesus fuck,” he panted, pushing Adam to the ground again. Adam was spent and went down, eyes half-mast and vision bleary. “You should teach a class.”

                Adam laughed hoarsely and lifted his hips as Quinton wrenched the shorts from his body. He balled them up and shoved them into his pocket the best he could, the cloth bulging there. He tucked himself in.

                “You can sniff my panties tonight,” purred Adam, watching him from the floor, knowing he’d made a fetishistic monster who’d never be able to get it up without the added feature of urination. He felt very smug in his manipulation of man and his sexuality. Watched as the flush of shame began to creep up Quinton’s face. But Adam never felt guilty. Only atomic.

**Author's Note:**

> [request/tipping info](https://bibles.carrd.co/#)


End file.
